


I'll Be The Blood (If You'll Be The Bones)

by xenowhore



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gallows Humor, Hurt Wade, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Peter Doesn't Realize He's Totally Gay, Peter Really Really Really Cares, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sleepovers, Suicide Attempt, Wade Can Sing, Wade Has Issues, Wade Is Manic, Wade Is Sensitive, all the homo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenowhore/pseuds/xenowhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Slowly, so that Wade could see what he was doing, Peter raised his hand and brought it gently to Wade’s shoulder. He rested it there against the warm damp skin, waiting, holding his breath. His lithe fingers spanned outward and rested delicately against the tip of Wade’s clavicle. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“Pete…?” Wade’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Hope, fear, relief. Peter watched them warring across his features, watched his eyes as they darted around the room, down at Peter’s hand and back up to hesitantly look into Peter’s eyes.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be The Blood (If You'll Be The Bones)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Spideypool Fic, so please be gentle! I've been a hardcore Deadpool fan for maaaaany years, and these two dorks give me too many goddamn feels. I really hope you'll like it, and let me know if you'd like to see more Spideypool from me. If you want to follow me on Tumblr, I'm 'shiningstar-kastle' 
> 
> \+ You'll notice that Wade talks to his boxes a lot in the first half of the story. This is because when Peter finds Wade, he's in the midst of mania - we all know that Wade never shuts up, but when he's deep in, it's especially noticeable. I wanted to take him from that place to somewhere calmer and more serious in the second half of the story, so you don't see the chatter.
> 
> \+ If you have never heard the group 'Of Monsters And Men' do yourself a favor and have a listen. Their stuff is absolute poetry!
> 
> \+ I'm a shameless, hopeless romantic sap, so I like fluff. A lot. If you feel I've written Wade OOC, I'm sorry. I can't help it, I just have so many feels for that man. He's so much more than a wisecracking goofball!
> 
> \+ Wade's boxes are written in Bold and Italic in brackets.

The first thing Peter noticed was how quiet it was.

There were no sounds of gunfire from whatever violent video game Wade was usually playing. No cursing, no muttered rambling, no ABBA on full blast (Wade _loved_ ABBA, unfortunately for his downstairs neighbors). Nothing. Just an unnatural stillness in a place that normally oozed chaos. Peter leaned in through the window where he perched, hesitant to step foot into the apartment. “Wade?” he ventured, feeling the first stirrings of his spider sense. Something was wrong.

The second thing Peter noticed, as he turned his head to the side and zeroed in, was the sound -- far off down the hallway behind the closed door of Wade’s spare room. The unmistakable sound of a gun’s hammer clicking rhythmically.

He vaulted through the window without a second thought.

As their friendship went, Peter never worried about Wade, not really. Not in the sense that most friends occasionally worry about each other. He didn’t need to stop by with shopping bags full of cough syrup and chicken soup when Wade got sick because Wade _never got sick_ (and besides, he’d scoff at the chicken soup and pout that it wasn’t tacos). There were no concerns about what food he put into his body, if he smoked or did drugs. Peter didn’t tell Wade to stop texting him when he was driving or scold him for walking through bad neighborhoods at night.

Wade couldn’t die, the fact that he sometimes very much wanted to be damned. Peter counted it a blessing -- he had too many other people in his life to worry about, especially when the adrenaline of battle wore off -- but he saw it for what it was. A curse.

He knew about the scars, how they twisted and shifted under the suit, morphing from healthy cells into dead ones in a never ending cycle that left Wade exhausted and in constant pain. He knew about the Weapon X program, the endless days of torture, the cancer and the mind games. Wade offered up these tidbits easily to Peter, often in the middle of one of his manic, rambling tirades, as though he were remarking on the weather or the latest Mets game. Peter always tried to take this information in stride and that would be the end of it -- they didn’t talk about the bad shit, though Peter could see it lurking there in the corners of Wade’s eyes, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

So, no. Wade wouldn’t die and leave an empty hole in his life. He would, however, keep Peter on his toes with the state of his mental health. The scars were one thing -- Wade’s mind was an entirely different creature. One that required constant vigil.

A vigil that Peter had made the decision to hold months ago, much to Wade’s confusion.

“Wade!” Peter called, nearly to the room now. He kicked various pizza boxes and containers of chinese takeout out of the way, the worrisome thought that the apartment was in _really_ bad shape lurking at the back of his mind. He closed his hand around the doorknob and turned. “Wade, what the h--”

Oh.

_Oh._

One thing Peter knew he would never get used to as a superhero was the smell of blood. It was all part and parcel with the gig -- you didn’t stop the baddies without having to visit the dry cleaner's a lot, and Parker was no slouch. Still. He remembered asking Tony once, during downtime at the Avenger’s Tower, if it ever got easier. Tony being Tony, there’d been some smart mouthed quip about what a pain in the ass it was to get blood off nitinol, but in the end he’d merely squeezed Peter’s shoulder reassuringly and headed off to refill his drink.

The cloying scent of copper was something he would never become numb to, despite the fact that Deadpool and his subsequent friendship came with a _lot of the stuff._

Wade was slouched on the floor, back against the wall and his legs splayed out at an awkward angle that suggested he’d been kicking. He was maskless and in civvies -- a shapeless grey hoodie and sweatpants with the Spiderman logo emblazoned on them that made Peter’s heart twist. The strong smell of urine followed closely on the trail of blood and Peter raised the back of his hand to his nose, wincing, simultaneously disgusted and heartbroken when his eyes alighted on the darkened fabric of Wade’s groin.

“Oh, _Wade.”_

He kept his voice as soft as possible and his movements slow as he eased around the door and stepped gingerly over Wade’s legs, crouching down beside him. “Hey.” he whispered, pulling his mask off. The air was hot and thick, the smell amplified without the protection of his mask and he swallowed thickly. _Come on, Parker, hold it together._ “You in there, buddy?”

The term ‘alive’ was a relative one when it came to Deadpool. As it stood, Wade was breathing, but he’d apparently spent the afternoon trying very hard to _unalive_ himself.

Bits of brain matter covered the wall behind Wade’s head where the .40 cal had left an impressive hole. Wade’s apartment complex was in one of the worst parts of the city, which wasn’t a surprise and was, in this situation, a small blessing. There would be no complaints or calls to management -- no neighbors upstairs or beside, only a grumpy old woman beneath him. Everyone in the building knew Wade and kept their distance from him which Peter found endlessly amusing. “You wear Hello Kitty slippers, Wade.” he’d explained one day when Wade had scoffed at the insinuation that he was mostly harmless. “Petey, you wound me! I could take Dolores out like _that.”_ he’d made a slicing motion across his throat. Peter had clapped him on the shoulder and walked away laughing. “Sure Wade. Whatever you say.”

Now Peter looked at the hole and the blood and brain surrounding it. Wade didn’t mess around when it came to ‘his babies’ -- since they’d started hanging out regularly, Peter had learned more about guns than he was comfortable with, quite frankly. Wade knew that he couldn’t be killed, but his stubbornness wouldn’t let him do a job half assed. He’d picked a hand cannon.

_Go big or go home, baby boy!_

Wade’s right hand held a Sig 226 to the underside of his chin. He stared ahead blankly, eyes unseeing and jaw slack as his index finger pulled the trigger once, twice, three times. The sharp, repetitive clicking of the hammer was at once heartbreaking and eerie and it was sending Peter’s spider senses into a fit.

“Wade, stop.” he reached up and closed his hand around the gun, gently but firmly pulling it away. He thumbed the mag release and it dropped into the butt of his hand, warm. Peter stared down at it, his pulse rushing loud and hot in his ears.

Ten.

He made a fist around the cool steel, trying to fight the bile rising up in his throat and the sudden tears that burned at the back of his eyes. Wade had just shot himself in the head _ten times._ He could only guess at the time this must have required. How long did it take Wade’s head to regenerate?

Gloved hands came up around Wade’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Wade, Wade, hey.” Peter grasped the strings on his hoodie and tugged and Wade rocked forward, boneless. “Come back to me, ok? It’s Peter.” he held his fingers up and snapped them.

It seemed to do the trick. The fog cleared slowly from Wade’s face, like steam rising off water, and Peter felt a surge of relief when he saw the familiar eyes of his friend blinking at him -- wide and slow and confused, but still Wade.

“Pete?” Wade asked wonderingly. His voice was raw and he had to cough before he could speak again. Peter nodded and squeezed his shoulders. Wade focused his eyes on Peter’s as though they were an island. _“Hey.”_ he drew the word out, and a genuine smile broke across his face that made Peter’s breath hitch.

The moment was short lived -- Peter saw exactly the second when Wade remembered where he was and what had happened. He sat up quickly, pressing his back against the wall and pushing up with his feet. Peter put a hand out to stop him, momentarily unsure where to touch. It hovered in the air between them awkwardly and he watched Wade’s eyes drift down to his pants. “Aw, shit.”

“Uh.” Peter said, because he was an idiot sometimes.

“Well _damn,_ Spidey. I was wondering when this day was gonna come! I mean, regeneration’s a bitch, ‘specially when you start with the head.” he gestured to his face. “Kinda hard to put a dent in this ugly mug, pointless and all, right? But you can’t blame a guy for trying!”

**[We try at least once a week.]**

_[Yeah, but don’t fucking tell him that. Look at the kid, he’s so adorkable. He’d probably have a heart attack.]_

Peter knew this part of Wade, the defense mechanism he’d spent years perfecting. He could hear it gathering speed in the unease in his voice, the frantic rambling that, for all intents and purposes, tried _so damn hard_ to appear funny and carefree. He recalled vividly the first time he’d watched Wade transform from the wise cracking Deadpool and into the broken shell that had emerged from the Weapon X program. Coincidentally, it was also the first time Peter had convinced him to take off his mask.

He hadn’t asked him to since, but at some point Wade had decided that Peter must have been worth trusting, and he’d slipped it off with little ceremony one night during an episode of Jeopardy. Peter had merely glanced over, thought; _there you are,_ and that had been the end of it. He’d trusted Wade earlier on with his identity, but all he’d gotten out of the man was blabbering about ‘bambi eyes’ and ‘jailbait’ which Peter chose to ignore.

He certainly hadn’t been overwhelmed with the desire to reach out and trace his fingers hesitantly over those scars, to see what a life of torment would feel like on the pads of his fingertips. Nothing like that at all.

Wade was standing now, brushing chunks of brain matter off the front of his hoodie. All it did was smear the blood and debris around messily. A handful of .40 cal shells fell out from the dip of fabric and clattered noisily to the floor.

“Sorry about the piss, though. I mean, _that’s_ gotta be hell on the spidey senses. You’re just lucky it was only piss ‘cause, _ha!_ been there done that! Oopsie! Dying ain’t pretty, no sir. You know what’s even harder to get outta clothes than blood? _Piss,_ Pete. ‘Specially cat piss. You ever had a cat piss on something you owned? Rip the band-aid off ‘n throw it out, boom, done, ‘cause it’s never gonna smell the same again. ‘Course, you could just kill the cat, too.” he paused thoughtfully. “But I like cats.”

“Wade.” Peter interjected, putting a hand to his chest. Wade’s eyes flickered down and Peter felt the tensing of his muscles, saw the minute hitch in his breathing. He pulled his hand back. “Hey, just take it easy for a second. I mean, are you OK?"

The grin was back instantly. “Petey, webs, my brochacho. Takes more than a little .40 cal to stop ‘ol Wade! Hey, you bring mexican by any chance? Chinese? You know I hate that shit from sixth, worst tacos _ever_ and you know what I say - bad tacos are like bad sex. Still tacos!” he grabbed Peter by the arm and was hauling him from the room, kicking shell casings and rumpled laundry out of their way. “Sorry about the place. If I’d known you were gonna stop by I woulda pencilled you in before ‘blow brains out’ but you weren’t answering your texts.”

Peter pulled his arm from Wade’s grip. “Wait, what? Text? I didn’t get…” he rummaged for his phone where he always kept it on his suit and saw the 3 UNREAD on his messenger icon. He looked up at Wade and made an apologetic face. “Crap. Sorry Wade. I had it on silent.”

Wade was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the chaos. He nodded to himself and started opening cupboards, flinging out cereal boxes and tossing them over his shoulder. A box of Captain Crunch hit the linoleum and burst, bright yellow pieces of artificial sugar rolling everywhere. Peter stared as a handful rolled under the fridge.

“Nah, it’s cool, it’s cool. Lotsa people probably wish they could put _me_ on silent. Is there an app for that? Or a Visine? Look, I gotta take a shower here, petey pie. Not gonna lounge around with my boyfriend--”

“We aren’t boyfriends, Wade.” Peter mumbled quietly.

“--right, right. Buddies. Pals. _Bros._ Anyway, _eau de Wade_ is a little less Old ‘El Paso and a little more blood and piss right now.” he made a triumphant noise as he found what he was looking for and pulled a box of Trix off the shelf. He stuffed a handful in his mouth and chewed, his eyes looking anywhere but at Peter.

“Wade, seriously. Can you just…? For a minute?”

“A minute, Spidey? Pfft, you know I’m good for more than that.”

**[Well ok, _no,_ he doesn’t, but he could. He _could_ know.]**

_[He **will** know. We just have to seduce him.]_

“Nobody likes a one minute man, Pete. Ludacris says so. LUDA!” bits of brightly colored cereal sprayed from Wade’s mouth as he spoke.

“A second then.”

“Pete, you poor boy. You’ve been missing out on _so mu--”_

_“Wade!”_

The shout was like a bucket of ice water and Wade stopped, hand raised halfway to his mouth, cereal box clenched in the other. Peter stared at him, from his hoodie covered in gore to the Spiderman sweatpants that were probably bloodstained beyond help, and back up to the expressive, chocolate brown eyes that now darted uneasily around the room.

“I’m sorry.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, pushing out a sigh. “I just. I wish you’d talk to me, you know? About…” he shrugged helplessly at Wade, trying to encompass the entirety of the macabre situation into the gesture.

**[The fact that we blew our brains out ten times today?]**

_[Shut up! He’s gonna leave if we freak him out. And we still have to finish Jurassic Park.]_

“Sorry Pete, not used to having people ask me to _keep_ talking.”

If you didn’t know Wade, you would miss it -- the infinitesimal tensing of his body, the way he curled himself inward as though he were afraid or ashamed, or both. Any second now, Peter could lose him, lose him to the mania and the tacos and Golden Girls and the X Box and he’d never know, never be able to hear the answer he didn’t realize he needed until now.

And then, because the entire situation was making anxiety claw it’s way up his throat and _he’d never seen a suicide before;_ “Tough day at the office?” is what Peter blurted out. Blurted it out in a voice strained and slightly hysterical sounding. The second the words were out of his mouth he felt crushing humiliation and wanted to web himself right out the window.

_That’s what you go with, Parker? Really? Your friend tries to kill himself and you ask him if he had a tough day at the office?!_ Thankfully, because Wade Wilson was who he was and walked the tightrope of insanity with frightening precision, he made a face like he might be choking and started to laugh. Loudly and genuinely.

“Sweet Betty White on a bicycle, Petey! Gallows humor! Didn’t know you had it in you!” Wade doubled over, clutching his midsection and smearing the mess into the sleeves of his hoodie as he laughed. “You are such a _dork!”_

Peter flushed scarlet. “Well, I mean.” he sputtered indignantly.

**[Look how _cute._ Can we keep him?!]**

_[We’re standing around without our masks on and everything. Hashtag squadgoals!]_

**[It’s totally our pants. He likes seeing his face on our crotch.]**

_[Nah, it’s the cereal. Trix are for dicks.]_

Peter was just glad he was laughing. It was a start, anyway. He tried to fight the grin he could feel threatening to split his face as he watched Wade, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut. Maskless and carefree, the usual taut lines of his body loose, his scars a secondary thought. If it was at Peter’s expense, well, he didn’t care. He’d take it.

“And you are such a _brat!”_ Peter rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out.

“Oh, baby boy, there’s an image for the spank-bank. Hold that pose for me, wouldja?” Wade straightened and wiped at his eyes, grin still wide and toothy in his face.

“I’m the photographer in this relationship.”

**[He said relationship! Are we in a relationship? Like, the sexy kind?]**

_[Doubtful. But mama didn’t raise no quitter!]_

**[Right. Persistence is key. He’s gotta give in eventually. We’re like, _really_ hard to ignore.]**

_[Kind of like gonorrhea.]_

**[ _Sexy_ gonorrhea.]**

“Wade, come in Wade. Hey.” Peter was standing in front of him now, snapping his fingers in front of his face once more. “Arguing with the boxes again?”

Wade blinked and ran a hand over the top of his head. “Just discussing strategy, Spidey. You can’t rush perfection. And that’s you ‘an me, baby boy! Just let it happen. I promise it’ll be fun.”

Peter was picking the box of Captain Crunch off the floor, bits of the cereal crunching under his feet. He made a face. “Wade, did you have to throw this all over the floor?"

“I didn’t throw it, I was _making art._ Like that dude in Britain who drinks milk with food dye in it and then makes himself puke all over a canvas.”

“I’d rather not think about that, ever again.” Peter muttered. He had a leg bent over his knee and was picking stubborn chunks of cereal from between his toes. “Seriously, Wade, this stuff is _not_ coming off.”

“Spandex, Petey. What have I been telling you? Make the switch to the good stuff. Leather’s sexier, anyway. Dunno if it’d showcase _dat ass_ as good, though…”

“Right.” Peter straightened and took a breath. “We’re getting really off track, which is like, pretty much the entirety of our relationship; me trying to corral you into some semblance of order--”

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘our relationship’ Pete. Is there something you’re trying to tell me? Ooh! Do you wanna go steady? Wear my jacket? Might not fit you, you’re pretty scrawny. Gymnast body and all, it’s cool, I get it. _Bendy._ I could make some alterations to it, take it in at the shoulders. ‘Cause I can sew like a motherfucker Spidey, I’m not all brawn and no brains. A girls’ gotta have skills. Something to bring to the table. My dowrie’s worth at _least_ two cows and a chicken, especially when you consider that thing I can do with my tongue and a bana--”

_“No.”_ Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and held a hand up in the ‘stop’ gesture.

“If you want a demonstration all you gotta do is say please.”

“Look, Wade. I didn’t bring any food but I was in the neighborhood. I was bored, y’know?” Peter brushed his hands off on his thighs and shrugged. “Thought we could finish Jurassic Park. We were getting close to the good part, remember?”

Wade smiled excitedly. “The part where the T-Rex eats the dude while he’s taking a shit?”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, the whole T-Rex bit.”

“But especially the toilet death. Talk about a _shitty_ way to die, webs. And stupid. Everyone knows the T-Rex’s vision is based on movement! Man, I ever tell you about the time that asshole symbiote Carnage sliced ‘n diced me into eight pieces and roasted me over an open flame? Didn’t work, obviously, but as far as plans go it was a decent one. Not particularly well executed on his part -- heh, _executed_ \-- but you gotta give--”

“Shut it.” Peter put his hands on Wade’s back and began pushing him down the hall toward the bathroom. “Shower. Now.”

Wade shrugged. “Yeah. Hopefully my blood comes out of your face.” he gestured to his crotch. “I mean, it’s all red when it boils down to it, but damn.” here he sounded sad. “I love these pants…”

**[What about the piss?]**

_[At least it’s not cat piss.]_

**[Maybe we should get a cat. We could call it Fluffernutter.]**

_[Let’s ask the boss.]_

“Hey Petey, you like cats?”

They were standing outside of Wade’s small single bathroom. Peter had one hand on the doorframe and the other gently pushing Wade inside. He raised an eyebrow. “Cats? Uh, yeah, cats are alright. Why?”

“You think I should get a cat? I’ll even let you name it, though I was kinda set on Fluffernutter. Or Spicy McHaggis. Shit, you’re not allergic are you? Aren’t all scrawny nerds allergic to basically everything?”

“I wish I was allergic to you sometimes.” Peter mumbled halfheartedly, trying to close the door on Wade. “and I’m _not_ scrawny!” he protested.

“Hey!” Wade held his hands up in a placating manner, leaning his shoulder against the door. “Don’t get your underoos in a bunch. Just concerned about my boyfriend’s well being, jeeze. Can’t have you sitting around here with a leaking face and foggy glasses and a mountain of snot rags beside my couch. That shit’s gross, Pete. But dude, cat hair’ll be everywhere. _Everywhere.”_ he finished in a horrified whisper.

Peter frowned at him through the door, fighting to close it. Wade’s fingers were wrapped around it, preventing him from closing it the final few inches. “We could get a Sticky Buddy, I guess. Always wanted one anyway. You ever see the infomercial for that? The one with the crazy grandma in it? Anyway. The important thing is if we get a divorce, I keep Flutternutter.”

“If I say deal, will you close the door and get in the damn shower?”

“Yes.” Wade stuck his hand through the crack. “Pinky swear?”

Peter hooked his pinky finger around Wade’s, squeezed, and shut the door in the grinning merc’s face. 

_____________________________________________

When the bathroom door opened forty five minutes later and Wade emerged in a cloud of steam, Peter had nearly fallen asleep on the couch. He shook himself awake and sat up, blinking as he watched Wade shuffle down the hallway with a towel around his waist, the upper half of his body and his legs on full display.

“Feel better?” Peter asked around a yawn. He tried not to let his eyes linger on the span of Wade’s chest and shoulders, the narrow trim of his waist. The scars stood out in shiny scrubbed redness, fresh from the shower.

“A man always feels better after a good shit ‘n shave, Pete.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You shave?” he tried to imagine hair growing anywhere on the mess of Wade’s skin and couldn’t.

“Nah, but I like the _memory_ of shaving.”

Wade surprised him by bypassing his bedroom and flopping down beside him on the couch with a heavy sigh. Wetness still clung to his skin and seeped into the fabric. Peter could feel the wave of heat radiating from Wade, could smell the body wash that clung to his skin. He swallowed and kept his face trained ahead, his body casual. Wade had never shown any skin but his face around Peter and right now he had _no idea_ what to say about it.

Wade saved him. “So, this is it.” he gestured toward himself grandly. “Drink it in, dude.”

Peter laughed nervously. “Guess it’s a night for firsts, huh?”

A muscle in Wade’s jaw twitched and he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Whatever he’d been thinking about in the shower, it had taken him from his mania and into the dark quiet.

“Guess so. Horribly disfigured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder is _also_ suicidal!” he made jazz-hands in the air. “Pro tip: this is the part where most people run.”

Peter looked down at his lap. This could go one of two ways, he knew. Either he could placate Wade with soothing, kind words intended to fill the awkward quiet -- empty self help lines you delivered to someone when you knew there was no right thing to say. He could be a Hallmark card for Wade; _‘Sorry About Your Face.’_ or, he could be real.

Peter wasn’t one for running.

Slowly, so that Wade could see what he was doing, Peter raised his hand and brought it gently to Wade’s shoulder. He rested it there against the warm damp skin, waiting, holding his breath. His lithe fingers spanned outward and rested delicately against the tip of Wade’s clavicle.

“Pete…?” Wade’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Hope, fear, relief. Peter watched them warring across his features, watched his eyes as they darted around the room, down at Peter’s hand and back up to hesitantly look into Peter’s eyes.

“Do they hurt?” Peter whispered into the sudden stillness. Unaware that he was even doing it, he rubbed tiny circles into the skin with the pad of his thumb. Wade’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“They always hurt.” Peter had never heard Wade’s voice sound so vulnerable, so _sad._ It made his fingers push in, pulling Wade toward him. There was a half second of resistance before the bigger man went easily, curling in toward Peter’s side like a child. Like he’d always been meant to fit there.

“You’re really warm.” Wade mumbled against Peter’s side. Being five inches taller than Peter and much bulkier, he’d had to slide out along the couch, and the towel had bunched up around his massive thighs, corded with muscle. Peter tried desperately not to think about just how the scars looked on _every_ part of Wade’s body.

“You’re the one that just used up all the hot water.”

Wade chuckled, a little puff of air that ghosted against Peter’s side. He felt hyper aware, every inch of his skin a live wire that was responding to Wade in ways he’d never anticipated.

“What, you wanted a shower Spidey? Shoulda said so. Best way to conserve water is to shower with a friend.”

A flush bloomed over Peter’s chest and rose like wildfire from the neck of his suit, spreading over his cheeks. A sound that was more like a choked cough than a laugh escaped him as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. Wade’s teasing and flirting was nothing new, in fact, it made up a good deal of their relationship. It had never bothered Peter, never made him squirm or struggle with what to respond with, certainly never made him _blush._ But then, he’d never touched Wade like this before. Wade, who was warm and solid and built like a brick shithouse, who smelled like gunpowder and leather and whose skin was warm and surprisingly soft and --

“Are we having a moment, Petey?”

This time Peter laughed, relieved and genuine. Trust Wade to crash through the awkwardness like a bull in a china shop. “God, I hope so. Maybe then you’ll stop being so maudlin.” he nudged Wade teasingly with his shoulder.

Wade nudged back. “Oooh, I love it when you talk nerdy to me, baby boy.”

“I’ll talk nerdy to you all night if you want me to. I mean, If you, if you need me to.”

Wade sat up and turned his body toward Peter in one fluid movement, a suspicious hope written all over his face.

“What do you mean, if I need you to?”

“You know what I mean.” Peter said simply. He looked over and met Wade’s gaze. “I just want you to know that you’re not, you don’t,” he made a frustrated noise as he tried to find the words.

“God, you’re fucking adorable when you’re flustered.” Wade said, suddenly grinning.

“Shut it, Wilson, or I’m rescinding my offer!”

Wade held his hands up, eyes wide and feigning innocence. _What?_

Peter couldn’t help but smile. They were _flirting._ He was sitting beside one of the most dangerous men in the city who was clad in nothing but a towel, and they were on his shitty torn-up couch in his rundown apartment in the bad part of town, at night, flirting. Peter was having fun, a lot of fun. The feeling in his chest that was spreading through his body made him realize that didn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

It scared the shit out of him.

Wade hadn’t taken his eyes off him. Peter could feel the heat of his gaze, could hear his cocky grin, and he ducked his head with a sigh. “For real though, I’m trying to have a serious moment with you. Trying to tell you that I care. That I want you to fucking _call me_ the next time you feel like, you know. Because that sucked, Wade. That was hard for me.”

“Why?”

Peter whipped his head up, eyes flashing as he met Wade’s gaze, but there was no teasing, no sarcasm in it. Only a honest question.

He frowned. “Because I care about you, Wade. A lot.”

Wade seemed to digest this, muttering to the boxes under his breath. Peter caught bits and pieces of _“I know, he’s crazy.”_ and _“I don’t think so.”_ Finally, Wade looked back down at him, opening and closing his mouth, seemingly so unable to come to terms with Peter’s declaration that for once in his life the legendary chatterbox had nothing to say.

It was heartbreaking. _What did they do to you in there Wade? What did they drill into your head?_

Wade’s dark brown eyes were disbelieving under furrowed brows when he finally found the words. “Yeah but... _why,_ Pete?”

Peter huffed. Without giving Wade time to object -- and actually let himself think about what he was doing -- he turned and swung his leg over Wade’s lap, kneeling over him and taking his face in both hands. Wade’s entire body went as still as stone, his eyes widening almost comically.

“Because, you big idiot. You’re smart and you make me laugh all the time. You’ve shown me that you’re capable of fighting crime with me without resorting to killing, and I’m pretty sure you do that _just to make me happy.”_ his gloved hands slid around to the back of Wade’s neck and shook, gently but firmly, emphasizing his words. He refused to break eye contact, trying to pour as much sincere emotion into them as he could. “I care about you because you’re _worth_ caring about, Wade. You’re my friend. You listened to me when I talked about Gwen and uncle Ben and you said all the right things when I was done.”

Wade had hardly taken a breath. “Pete…” he breathed.

“I know you can’t...that you can’t die, Wade. But I know you want to sometimes. So I promise I’m a good listener, and you can text me or call me whenever you want, and I’ll just come over and we’ll slum it with some pizza and work on our file in COD. I know you think you’re a piece of shit, but trust me...I’m not,” he took a deep breath. “I’m not interested in a New York without you.”

Peter slumped against Wade, letting his full weight settle into his lap. He closed his eyes and touched their foreheads together, giving Wade’s neck another gentle, affirming squeeze. “Ok?” he whispered, trying to ignore the sudden trembling running through his body. _Oh my god, I just went way too far with that. Holy shit. And now I’m sitting in his LAP and he probably thinks I’m just a total--_

Wade’s arms came up and swept Peter against him, _crushed_ him, and Peter had never understood just how muscular and truly big Wade was until he slipped his own arms around him in response, his fingers hardly touching against the wide expanse of Wade’s back. Wade hugged like a drowning man, clinging to Peter like a lifeline. All Peter could smell was bodywash and skin and all he could think about was how smooth and worn the scars were, the edges like sea glass, a map of divots he suddenly couldn’t get enough of.

They embraced for what felt like hours. It was easy and comfortable in a way Peter had never imagined. The rhythm of Wade’s heartbeat was beginning to lull Peter into deep relaxation, and he made himself sit up as his eyes began to feel heavy. “Hey,” he said softly, looking down at Wade. “Sorry if I got a bit too real there for a second. I just--”

Wade made a quiet shushing noise and brought his lips up to Peter’s, effectively cancelling out whatever he’d been about to say.

For a man who excelled at killing people in many creatively different ways, Wade kissed with a sweetness that was startling. Peter’s brain only short circuited for a second before he recovered and kissed back in kind, pressing his lips against the merc’s, surprised at the softness he found there. He’d expected rough, jagged skin -- patches that would catch and scratch. Instead he marveled at how Wade felt under his suddenly exploring hands, the way his incredible muscles shifted and played beneath his fingers as the two men moved slowly against one another.

When a pleased sigh escaped Peter, big, strong hands came up around his waist and held him gently as though he were something of reverent frailty. It was at once tender and frustrating and Peter blushed, shocked with the sudden and overwhelming desire to grind himself down hard against Wade, to encourage him to squeeze his hips until he left bruises.

Peter pulled back, sucking in a breath. They were both breathing hard, staring at each other. A sheen of sweat had spread across Wade’s chest and Peter steadied himself against it with a palm, leaning back and threading the other through his wild hair. Wade’s pupils were so blown that the black had nearly bled right through, and Peter’s breath stuttered when he realized he desperately wanted to see Wade looking at him like that for the rest of his natural life.

“Um, wow. Ok. Yes.”

“Yeah.” Wade nodded, cupping the side of Peter’s face, his eyes wandering over it with awe. “Been wantin’ to do that for a long time.”

Peter leaned into the touch, closing his eyes briefly. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Baby boy, I ain’t exactly been _subtle,_ you know?” Wade said, cocking a brow. “But you’d made it clear that you weren’t into being the Gyllenhaal to my Ledger.”

Peter laughed and shook his head, feeling the blush tingling across his cheeks again. _Had_ he made it clear? He couldn’t recall ever getting angry with Wade’s flirting, or having any sort of conversation about sexuality with him. He couldn’t deny that he’d found himself appreciating Wade’s body on their patrols together, admiring the fluidity of his movements as he backflipped and careened through mobs, a deadly ballet of blades and fists.

Shook out of his thoughts, he made an affronted face. “Wait, why am I Gyllenhaal?”

Wade put his hands back on Peter’s waist. His thumbs began slow sweeps across the suit, hypnotic passes over Peter’s hipbones that felt amazing under the slide of spandex. He shivered.

“Cause you’re the little guy.” Wade shrugged, an affectionate grin stretched across his face. “Ledger’s the brawn, Jake’s the brains.”

“M’not little.” Peter pouted.

Wade chuckled, a low, rough sound that rumbled through his chest and sparked a pooling of heat in Peter’s belly. “You are compared to me. And I like that. Pocket sized Spidey. Can keep you tucked away, nice ‘n safe and cozy, take you with me everywhere.”

Peter was laughing. “Wade, you--”

Wade darted forward again, stopping Peter’s words with this mouth. Wade licked his way inside like he wanted to memorize the taste, map the cavern of Peter’s mouth so he’d never get lost. And ok, yes, that was excellent, that was _fucking amazing._ He sucked Peter’s bottom lip between his and bit, gently, _so gently_ but with barely restrained promise. It wrestled a high pitched whine from Peter’s throat that had Wade laughing devilishly against his jawline.

Peter pushed weakly at him, flushed and thrumming with desire. He rubbed his hands down his face and groaned, trying to ignore the shit-eating grin on Wade’s face. “Wait wait _wait._ What’s happening here? Weren’t you the sad and vulnerable one a second ago? Aren’t I supposed to be comforting you?”

Wade nudged his nose under Peter’s ear, delighting in the hitch of breath he got in return. “This is very comforting, Spidey. Promise. But uh, I’m still pretty sad. I could definitely use some more comforting. This is helping but keep it up.”

Peter swatted at his arm. “You’re insufferable.”

Wade relaxed back against the couch, his posture languid. “I’m happy.” he emphasized this by cocking his head and appraising Peter with a once over of his entire body. It made Peter squirm; he couldn’t recall a time anyone had ever looked at him like that. Wade smiled lazily as his hands ran up and down Peter’s thighs gently, nails scratching lightly. “Been hoping this was gonna happen. Never thought it _would_ , but I’m an optimist at heart Pete. I knew sooner or later you’d realize we were destined soulmates or you’d just get sick of my verbal diarrhea and kiss me to shut me up.”

“Destined soulmates, huh?”

“Damn rights. I mean, I know it’s too soon to tattoo each other's names on our ass cheeks, but--wait, _shit.”_

“Insufferable _and_ a huge dork.” Peter rolled his eyes and they both laughed. Peter felt crazy with the affection roaring through his body. He wanted to pepper this man under him with kisses, run his hands over the top of his head, nuzzle his face into the side of his neck and inhale deeply. It simultaneously thrilled and terrified him.

A comfortable quiet had fallen over the room as the two simply looked at one another, Wade grinning and shaking his head and Peter blushing, _again._ Wade hadn’t stopped touching Peter, which he was very OK with -- more than OK, as Wade shifted and sat up, running his hands up Peter’s thighs and around to ghost teasingly over the top of his ass. He held Peter’s gaze, half lidded and dark, and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. Instinctively, Peter made a soft noise and rolled his hips down to meet Wade’s, who in turn gritted his teeth and hissed, bucking up helplessly.

It had gone from sweet to filthy in 0.3 seconds, and the fact that Wade was wearing only a flimsy bath towel suddenly became glaringly obvious.

Peter thought he might choke on his tongue. “Oh shit, um, that’s...uh, I mean…”

“Sorry, Pooly Jr. is kinda hard to ignore.”

Peter scrambled off of Wade, who groaned and pushed his head back into the couch. _“Shit.”_ he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stood up. “Pete, Pete. Hey. C’mere. I didn’t mean to, fuck. Just gimmie a second, god _dammit!”_ Wade cursed as the towel slid from his waist and tangled under his foot, tripping him and sending him sprawling over the arm of the couch.

He recovered fast (ninja reflexes save the day) and grabbed the towel, holding it in front of his suddenly very prominent erection. Peter was standing beside the couch with his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and shoulders shaking with laughter.

“So look, I know it’s kind of -- wait, are you _laughing at me?”_

Peter shook his head, grin hiding behind his fist. He gestured at Wade. “It’s just...I’ve never seen you clumsy like that.” he kept laughing. “And that _towel._ Wade, go put some damn pants on!”

Wade was just relieved that he hadn’t spooked Peter and messed it all up. “We don’t all have the luxury of a protective cup.” he grumbled as he walked past Peter to his bedroom, opening and closing drawers as he rifled through for some sweatpants.

It took a long time for Peter to stop laughing.

__________________________________________________

“What’s this song called again?”

They’d lost track of time. Outside, the streetlamps glowed and traffic was sparse. The bedroom window was propped open and let in a soft breeze that stirred the sheets, city air mingling with the smell of the bedroom, which was so distinctly _Wade._ Peter gazed around at the shadowy shapes, blinking as they formed into objects -- stacks of boxed ammunition, duffel bags, various swords and rifles propped against the walls.

“We Sink, Of Monsters and Men.” Wade replied.

His face was lit up by the glow of the phone that rested on the bed between them. Peter studied him in the soft light as the melody played in his left ear, the cord from the earbuds trailing between them. Wade was on his back, having thrown a hoodie on along with the sweats. Peter had wanted desperately to get out of the suit, so Wade had given him some clothes to wear. They absolutely swam on him but he was much comfier.

Plus, they smelled like Wade.

“I like it.” Peter said as the song ended, taking out his earbud. “Took you for more of a Metallica guy though. Not this sensitive indie stuff.”

Wade pressed a hand to his chest, mock outrage in his voice. “Oh sure, paint the mercenary with a label!”

“Well, it’s a lot better than ABBA, that’s for damn sure.” Peter quipped.

Wade rolled over to face Peter and propped himself up on an elbow. “Spidey, tell me you did _not_ just diss ABBA.”

Peter nodded, twirling the earbud cords around his fingers. “Oh, I dissed.”

Wade flopped back down with a sigh. “I don’t know if this is gonna work, then. Might need to take your ball and bat and go home. Yellow says you need to gimmie back my clothes first though.”

Peter grinned, suddenly feeling bold. He reached out across the space between them and poked Wade in the chest. “If you want them back, you gotta come take ‘em.”

Wade chuckled. Not for the first time that night, Peter wondered how he’d never heard that laugh before. He marveled that _he_ was responsible for the way Wade’s voice dropped an octave, the way it came out like smoke and whisky and made his toes curl.

He caught Peter’s hand and held it, threading their fingers together. Peter’s heart picked up as Wade’s thumb stroked the soft skin between his thumb and index finger.

“I’d love nothing more, Petey. I’d love to do that more than I’d love a food truck to drive through the walls of this apartment building right this second. And not just any food truck, a _taco_ truck. Just hundreds of tacos raining down on us. We could have ourselves a regular ‘ol taco orgy. Taco bukakke.”

Peter scrunched up his nose. “Sounds messy.”

“Nah. Clean up’s fun.”

He was looking at Peter again, like _that._ Like he wanted to eat him. Peter was about to make a suggestion for another activity when Wade continued.

“Thing is, boxes won’t shut the fuck up about me ruining this. Almost scared ya away back there. Don’t wanna rush this, no sir. Can’t be messing up the best thing that might be happening to me.”

Peter felt something in his chest tighten. He squeezed Wade’s hand, shifting closer on the bed toward him, moving the phone out of their way and coming as close as he could to touching. Their faces were inches apart in the dark, and Peter let his eyes trail over Wade’s face.

“Might be?” he whispered into the space between their mouths. He heard Wade’s throat click as he swallowed.

“Well, yeah.” Wade murmured back, and Peter realized that Wade was trembling. It was so subtle, so barely perceptible but Peter picked up on it right away. He tightened his grip and tried to calm his pulse and his erratic breathing that he was sure was uncomfortably loud in the small room.

“Going slow is...is good. It’s safe.” he nodded. “I like that idea.” he lifted his eyes to Wade’s and followed the shine of them from the streetlamps as they trailed over his face in kind. Wade swore, low and fast under his breath, and curled a finger under Peter’s jaw to tilt his face up. “Don’t fuck with me Pete.” he whispered. His voice was rough and unsteady. “Couldn’t take it again.”

Peter wanted to find every person who had ever broken Wade’s heart and slam them into the pavement. “I’m not. I like the idea of you and me. A lot.” he whispered back, and then Wade was ducking his head and kissing him. Peter wasn’t sure but he swore he could taste the relief on Wade’s tongue, feel it in the way his body surrendered and gripped Peter with abandon. _I’m here,_ Peter said with his kiss. _I’m sorry it took me so long but I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere._

It had started to rain when Wade pulled Peter up against his chest, searching with a hand in the dark for the phone. He found it and unwound the cord, gently wedging a bud into Peter’s ear and the other in his. Peter squinted in the sudden light of the phone as Wade thumbed through for the track, and when it started, his mouth fell open in surprise as Wade began to sing.

“Wow.” Peter breathed against Wade’s chest, his ear pressed flat to listen to the hum and timbre of the merc’s voice. “You’re really good. You should start a band.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Wade said, and Peter could tell he was smiling. “Quit my day job, eh?”

“We-ell, not _that_ good. Besides, I’d miss you. And I don’t think I’d make a very good groupie.”

Wade tightened his arm around Peter, his hand sliding up under the hoodie and resting there against the small of Peter’s back. “Say that again.” he whispered against the top of Peter’s head while his fingers stroked softly.

“What, groupie?” Peter teased.

Wade growled.

“Ok Ok.” Peter laughed. He lifted a leg and draped it across, shifting so his head lay in the crook of Wade’s shoulder. He lifted his face and pressed his mouth against the scars at Wade’s throat, murmuring “I’d miss you.” his mouth ghosted over the biggest of them, taking care to linger, saying without words what he knew Wade needed. _I see them, all of them, and I don’t care. They’re part of you, and I want all of you._

Wade couldn’t speak. He just tightened his arms around Peter until there was hardly enough room between them for air.

_It’s warm, the skin I’m in_

_It creates and shapes what is within_

_So please look away,_

_Don’t look at me_

_As we sink into the open sea._


End file.
